More Butterbeer?
by Mademoiselle Nout
Summary: BW/Rosmerta Pre-DH. Bill Weasley has trouble with his wolflike characteristics. Fleeing family, friends and wife, he errs from pub to pub. Can Rosmerta's council give him solace?


More Butterbeer Bill?

The Three Broomsticks was nearly impossible to find as the gale and the wind tortured the few wizards and witches who ventured out in Hogsmeade's streets. Every single footstep was followed by a nasty squelch as every kind of shoe landed in the mud, shortly followed by its owner's angry swearing and muttering. People pulled their hoods over their heads and their cloaks tighter with one hand while their other was safely clenched around their wands. After all, Hogsmeade after dark wasn't always equally safe, it being the only wizard-dwelling in Britain.

The few clients of the pub head's snapped up as a figure wrapped in a dark-blue cloak opened the door, letting in the fierce wind, that chilled the bones, along with a splatter of rain. He quickly shut the door and most people lowered their gazes back to their Butterbeer, Firewhiskey or other dubious drink as the stranger moved towards a table next to the fireplace, leaving behind him a trail of mud. He sat down with a sigh without removing his hood and stared into the fiery red flames whilst drumming his freckled fingers on the table.

Madam Rosmerta, the pub's owner, came from behind the bar while muttering a quick _Scourgif_y at the floor and smiled warmly as she asked the new client what he wanted to drink. "Firewhiskey," said the man without looking up. Rosmerta's smile faltered as she turned around, feeling saddened that only tortured and rude people seemed to come to her pub. "No, wait," said the man as he grabbed her wrist to make her spin around. "I'll have a Butterbeer." She stared down at the hand on her wrist with a smoldering gaze and the man let go quickly. "Please," he added curtly after a moment's reflection.

Once he had his hand around the bottle of Butterbeer, Bill felt mildly comforted. He calmly watched the last flame being extinguished in the grate; the last log in the fireplace refused to fully burn. Truth be told, he felt like that log. Not new and fresh, yet not reduced to ashes either. A freak of nature, half mutilated by the fire but too strong to die. He balled his fist when he thought of his family. How they all said it wasn't important, that they loved him no matter what, and how they kept telling him that Remus too lived a good life now and how a full werewolf like him had found Tonks. But he saw them flinch whenever he rounded a corner or sat down for dinner, he knew they avoided him, frightened of the wolf inside him. Frightened of his need for raw meat at times.

And then there was Fleur. She truly loved him, cared for him, kissed his scars as if trying to soothe the pain lying underneath and said she didn't care, that it didn't matter. But it mattered to him! He loathed his face when it insolently stared at him from the few mirrors in his house he hadn't smashed yet, because Fleur wanted one. Was it a crime to be vain? No. It was torture to see his gorgeous wife every day and enjoy her beauty while she had to put up with his... mutt of a face.

"More Butterbeer?"

Bill jumped at the sudden intrusion of his thoughts and caught his hood just in time as it was starting to slide back, Rosmerta was looking at him with a soft expectant smile. "You've been clutching that empty bottle for quite a while now. I just thought you would like another one."

"I'll have a Firewhiskey this time, thanks," he mumbled, thinking something stronger might just get his mind off things. He was just so sick and tired of worrying. Of not being able to go anywhere without being stared at, be it because of the face or the hood. It had to end. How could he live like this for the rest of his life? Maybe he should go back to Egypt to work in the dangerous-curse department. There at least he wouldn't be the only one to look like a monster. Voldemort was gone now, they wouldn't need him here anymore. The Order was rounding up the last Death eaters and they didn't really need his assistance, although Fred did suggest he could scare them to death.

Bill smiled bitterly to himself as a hand deposited a small glass of Ogden's Finest Firewhisky in front of him. "On the house," Rosmerta said as she sat down across Bill. "You don't mind if I sit, do you? Everyone else has gone and I'm dead bored really. Most people don't want to venture out in this weather."

Bill slowly looked up from his glass and became intrigued by the soft glow of the newly lit fire on Rosmerta's blonde curls and his eyes halted on her ample cleavage, at which he stared shamelessly. He laughed to himself as he thought the hood had some advantage. He shook his now empty glass and watched her curves move as she went to the bar and came back with another glass and a whole bottle of Firewhisky. She slightly bent over to offer him a refill and he closed his eyes as he inhaled the scent of her skin.

"You know," she said finally after having taken a sip herself. "I don't mind keeping you company, silent or not, but I would prefer know who you are or to see your face. For all I know you might be an old Death Eater and I'd rather like to know," she said as her slender fingers caressed her wand.

Bill sighed, got up and defiantly threw some money on the table. She, however, kept sitting and leaned forward. "Look, just give me your word you're not some dangerous lunatic. You can understand that, right?" Bill hesitated and looked out the window. He had no desire whatsoever of going back out in the storm while the pub offered a rather cozy alternative. He grunted and sat back down, observing Rosmerta trough narrowed eyes. For a moment her blue eyes seemed to penetrate the shadow of his cloak as she stared at him before she relaxed and sat back stretching out like a cat. He once again dropped his gaze to the green velvet dress she was wearing and how her curves moved as she breathed steadily while she stared at the fire.

He didn't know why, but Bill lowered his hood and took off his cloak. Maybe he was tired of hiding for that day, maybe he wanted her to shriek so he could run to the peace and quiet of a rented room, maybe he just stopped caring. He watched her smile as she recognized Bill Weasley, the "cool" one of the Weasley descendants. She ran her tongue over her lips, smiling vaguely while she nodded softly. "Bill," she said softly, "I should have known. How many time did I see those very hands," she gestured at them, "drink Butterbeer and pick duels with people in my pub. Things were never the same here when you left Hogwarts you know."

Bill laughed bitterly and contemplated his once again empty glass as he reached for the bottle. "I think you've had enough," she said putting a hand on his that was already clutching the bottle. He quickly pulled back and looked at her, as a young boy scolded by his mother. But she was quick and grabbed his hand again, inspecting it carefully under his mesmerized gaze. "So many freckles," she whispered as she ran her fingers on the back of his hand, causing him to shiver. "How is Fleur?" she asked suddenly, letting go of his hand. "I haven't seen her since the wedding. She was beautiful. Very thin though."

"Unlike you I suppose," he said, openly staring at her full breasts. She blushed slightly before boldly looking into his eyes. "Perhaps, yes," he muttered as he got up slowly, poured himself another glass and downed it. "Though you have both have blue eyes and blond hair," he said coming closer. "But, yours is curly." He reached out to one of her curly locks and let it slip through his fingers. "And it smells like apples," he added as he gestured for her to get up. She hesitated strongly, but curiosity got the best of her and she complied. He placed his pale hands on her hips and turned her around so that she stood with her back to him. "She doesn't have much hips," he slurred as he ran both hands down her flanks while she shivered at the touch trough the thin fabric of her dress. "She doesn't have a firm bottom," he said squeezing it softly, sending sparks trough her body as she tried to get away from him; but he held her firmly around the waist.

"You smell fruity and spicy altogether." He inhaled deeply at the crane of her neck, letting his hands slide down her arms and stroke back up slowly. "She smells like mint, cold and vain." He turned her around as if dancing with her. "And she hasn't gotten full, round, warm breasts," he added as he softly caressed her breasts, causing her nipples to harden. "But I love her," he said abruptly, nevertheless continuing to let his hands roam Rosmerta's body.

"Then go to her," she said firmly grabbing his hands and pushing them away. "Go before you confuse me even more, Bill."

"No," he said simply as he ran his thumb across her lower lip. "She doesn't have full lips like yours. They are not as inviting as yours, not as warm." He stopped talking when he noticed her quick breathing accompanied by the heavy rising of her chest. He picked her up and set her on the table, knocking over the bottle and the glasses as they spilled their contents on the floor. He slowly brought his hand to the buttons at the front of her dress and undid them in an agonizingly slow way while her breathing once again picked up speed as she leaned on her hands, unsure of what to do. When the row of buttons was undone he noticed they barely gave him more access to what he needed and with a flick of his wand her dress was gone.

He stepped back and abashedly gazed at her thighs, hips and honey-colored skin as it glowed in the firelight. She was wearing black and red lace knickers and a bra in the same fabric. He noticed how the pink flesh of her areola surged from under the black fabric and he dipped forward to nip at it. She gasped and entwined her hands in his hair as he tried to undo the clasp. He moved behind her, discarded the now offensive garment and wrapped his arms around her while the amazing softness of her breasts drove him mad.

When she turned around and desperately kissed him, he just snapped. The wolf in him awoke after weeks of suppressing his every feeling for the sake of everyone else, especially Fleur. He became consumed by a bestial need of touching this alluring woman, who was kissing him willingly, touching his face without recoiling. This wasn't pity.

He softy bit her neck, making her whimper before he returned her kiss savagely, softly biting her lip. Her fingers clawed at his back as he ran his hands along her inner thighs and tore off the lace fabric that was blocking his destiny. He buried his head between her breasts as he softly kept teasing her thighs, frustrating her. Far from being a naïve schoolgirl, Rosmerta growled as she pressed herself against his torso after having removed his shirt. She pressed her fingers on his pale freckled skin and ran her hands down his abdomen towards the straining bulge of his pants.

He backed away suddenly, without really understanding why and she smiled softly as she bent down to retrieve her dress. She ran a hand trough her blonde curls and looked for her wand, which was lying on the floor near the table. She bent down to retrieve it, still clutching her dress in front of her and she gasped as she felt Bills hands on her flanks again.

"No," she said firmly, "Go back to your wife."

"I haven't seen her in a month."

"Which explains why you are trying to do this," she said, the warm tone ebbing away from her voice. "You love her, she loves you. What else do you want? Me? I don't think so."

"I do want you," he protested in a child-like way. "I love you."

"Dear boy," she said cupping his cheek. "You don't love me. I'm old enough to know how this works. You miss Fleur, you had a lot to drink and this combined with an old schoolboy's crush on me-" her voice trailed away sadly as she watched him with those blue eyes. He shook his head, sat down and buried his face in his hands.

"Rosie, I-"

"I know," she said softly pressing her lips against his. "But I can't do this, it's not right." She finally found her wand and got fully dressed again. He nodded and pulled his shirt over his head while picking up his own wand again and cleaning up the smashed glasses and bottle.

Rosmerta readjusted her make-up and smiled kindly at Bill as he sat on down on one of the barstools.

"Now," she said brightly, "coffee then?"


End file.
